The Green Grasshopper 



eggs are nicely ripened around his legs under 

 the humid shelter of a stone, he braves the 

 damp and the daylight, he the passionate 

 lover of dry land and darkness; he advances 

 by short stages, his lungs congested v^^ith 

 fatigue. The pond is far away, perhaps; 

 no matter: the plucky pilgrim will find it. 



He's there. Without delay, he dives, 

 despite his profound antipathy to bathing; 

 and the cluster of eggs is instantly removed 

 by the legs rubbing against each other. The 

 eggs are now in their element; and the rest 

 will be accomplished of itself. Having ful- 

 filled his obligation to go right under, the 

 father hastens to return to his well-sheltered 

 home. He is scarcely out of sight before 

 the little black tadpoles are hatched and 

 playing about. They were but waiting for 

 the contact of the water in order to burst 

 their shells. 



Among the singers in the July gloaming, 

 one alone, were he able to vary his notes, 

 could vie with the Toad's harmonious bells. 

 This is the little Scops-owl, that comely noc- 

 turnal bird of prey, with the round gold eyes. 

 He sports on his forehead two small 

 feathered horns which have won for him in 

 the district the name of Machoto banarudo, 



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